


When You Were Young

by zeldafitzgerald



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldafitzgerald/pseuds/zeldafitzgerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I used to dream that I would meet a prince."  A walk through the life of Mme. Thénardier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Were Young

__  
Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
To save your from your old ways  
You play forgiveness  
Watch it now, here he comes  
He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
But he talks like a gentlemen  
Like you imagined when you were young 

 

 

You’re six years old when you hear the story of Cinderella. Your sister tells it to you at night, huddled in an alley under the threadbare blanket. She’s told you stories since before you can remember, but you just can’t shake this one. A few nights later, in the same alley, under the same blanket, you look up at her with wide eyes and ask if Cinderella could really happen. She’s only a few years older than you, but you’re pretty sure she knows everything. She strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head and whispers _of course_

 

You’re 10 now, and she tells you a story about an orphan who discovers she’s a princess. You’re almost too old for stories now, and you’re definitely old enough to know that most orphans stay orphans. Still, your sister doesn’t remember your parents either, so they could be anyone. You keep this thought locked up in the most secret section of your heart. They could have been beautiful. They could have been royalty. They could have been kind and bright and important. As you grown up this almost becomes a mantra, because if _they_ could have been anyone, that means _you_ can be anyone. 

 

When you’re 11, your sister gets a job. She buys you bread and it’s the most exciting thing in the world. She’s out all night though, and sometimes she brings strange men back to the tiny one room apartment you share. You hate them, and you hate the way they stare, and their teeth like fangs and the way your sister makes you sit outside with your hands over your ears until they leave. Even worse is when your sister comes home with a black eye or a split lip. She refuses to tell you what happened, but you know the horrible men are part of it.

 

You’re 16 when you meet a boy in town. He’s beautiful and witty. His bright blue eyes sparkle you tell him your name. He smiles when you speak, and you find yourself making more and more excuses to visit him. He teaches you how to write, and when he tucks a flower behind your ear, you can’t help but think of the prince your sister told you about all those years ago. 

 

A few months later he tells you he’s to marry a girl named Corinne. He won’t meet your eyes when he says it. He says it would be inappropriate for the two of you to continue any further association. You ask if he loves her, because maybe, if its what he really wants, you can be okay with losing him. He mumbles something about her being a very nice girl and that their families have been close for years. You leave before he has a chance to finish. Sometimes, you wish you’d stayed a little longer, just so you could look into those beautiful eyes one more time.

 

When you’re 17, your sister gets gravely ill. She lasts for a few more weeks, and then is gone. The last thing she says to you is “I love you, princess.” You weep by her bedside until someone comes to collect her. You don’t know how they know, nor do you care. You just know this hurts more than anything. You aren’t sure how to survive without her. You aren’t even sure you want to. 

 

You meet a boy named Thénardier shortly thereafter. He’s not beautiful, but he has a certain confidence that you like. You don’t know what he does for a living, but he has a special talent for words. He can make anyone believe anything and sometimes, you’re content to just sit and listen to him speak. It doesn’t quite fill the holes in your heart, or your shoes for that matter, but its close enough. 

 

You’re 24 now, and just had your second daughter. You name this one Éponine, and promise her the same thing you promised Azelma; that she will never forget that she’s a princess.

 

When Eponine is three, you take in the Lark. You can’t stand her mother for leaving her. You can’t stand her, Cosette; the mother calls her, with those blue eyes that remind you of the boy. You can’t stand her hope, and her wonder, because life doesn’t work that way dammit, and some people just aren’t princess. Some people never leave the gutter. As she grows up, it becomes harder and harder for you to watch her dream of castles and queens. Those were dreams your sister gave you, they weren’t supposed to be dreams for a Lark.

 

When the well-dressed man with gentle eyes comes for Cosette you want to scream. For the tiniest of seconds you consider asking him to take Éponine and Azelma because you _promised_ them. They were supposed to have better. You were supposed to have better.

 

That night you look at your husband’s pointed face, illuminated by the light of the moon. He’s a common crook, nothing special. You deserve more. You deserve better. You remember the stories he told you, the promises he made. You remember a boy from town that promised he loved you. Your sister; who promised she would never leave. Promises never seem to mean as much as they should, you realize.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I'm 99% sure the use of Cinderella here isn't anachronistic, but I could be wrong  
> \- The title/lyrics at the beginning are from When You Were Young, by The Killers  
> \- This is un-beta'd so sorry for any typos  
> \- Lets be friends! zfitzgerald.tumblr.com


End file.
